


Suffer Not a Witch: The Seventh Year

by alephthirteen



Series: Suffer Not a Witch [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Deceiving Hell-Gods for Immortality, Ending Up at Hogwarts, F/F, F/M, Frequent Sex Dreams, Fucking Across History, Godlike Ginny, Godlike Hermione, Golden Trio is Harry+Hermione+Ginny, Hermione Isn't The Grandaughter of a Witch They Forgot to Burn, M/M, Occasional Flashbacks to Their Past, Partially "Church" Witches with Demon Fucking and All That, Partially Potterverse, Porn With Plot, She's The Witch, The Third Death is the Important One, They've Been At This a While, godlike Harry, mixed mythology
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-07
Updated: 2021-01-08
Packaged: 2021-03-18 13:22:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28618722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alephthirteen/pseuds/alephthirteen
Summary: In Massachusetts Colony in 1692, a woman named Hermione Granger was hanged as a witch, along with the adulterer John Proctor and a dark-haired rake named Harry Potter who had been sampling the good Christian girls of Salem.  Fortunately for her captors, she was a forgiving sort.  Hermione had engaged in magic dark as dark gets to ensure her survival and the survival of those she loves. When she clawed her way out of the unmarked grave, clad only in her magic, she had better things to do than get revenge.It wasn't personal, after all.  Those needle-dicked imbeciles were going to accuse a witch eventually, as many fingers as they pointed.ORHarry, Hermione, Ginny, Luna and Blaise have been lovers for three centuries, since the orgies in the Salem coven. Due to Hermione's brilliance and their consumption a dead god, each has died two times and their third lives begin in the early 1980s as children in Britain.So long as they can live long enough to meet each other, they will have mastered death...They just have to surviveHogwartswithout being caught out.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger/Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger/Harry Potter
Series: Suffer Not a Witch [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2097066
Comments: 4
Kudos: 28





	Suffer Not a Witch: The Seventh Year

**Author's Note:**

> In the Potterverse, the Statue of Secrecy is passed in 1692 and establishes wizarding culture as separate. It was passed after the Salem Witch Trials as a way of protecting witches from further persecution.
> 
> This story is the tale of a Hermione who was one of the witches hanged at Salem, but survived because a demon-king made her an offer she couldn't refuse...an offer with risks that he hadn't thought through. There's not really a ton of conflict / drama here because let's face it, our heroes have been fucking, killing and pirating across history for three hundred years now and there's not anyone who can face them.
> 
> There _are_ some tasty witches and wizards they can amuse themselves with while they pretend to need to work at getting their NEWTs.

**Riddle Manor, England**

**The Year of Our Lord, 1994**

**Third Cycle**

Wormtail screams as Voldemort's claw-like nails dig into his mark.

"Return to me, servants!" Voldemort howls to the sky.

They do, aparrating in with oily puffs of smoke. A dozen strong.

"Crabbe," Voldemort hisses. "Goyle. MacNair. Avery..."

Four more land, each of them at a compass point, and back from the others. One of them is unmistakably Lucius Malfoy, with his thin, long hair peeking out from his hood.

"You're late," Voldemort snarls, picking a man at random. " _Crucio_!"

"My lord!" Lucius shouts. "I need to wa-"

Lucius's head comes off, his neck fountaining blood into the foggy night.

Ginny Weasley kicks his corpse to the dirt before lifting the dripping sword over her head to catch a few drops on her tongue.

"Hello, Tom..." she purrs.

Three more screams die in men's throats as they are cut. Three more bodies topple to the dirt, revealing the killers who stowed away when they apparated. Three more bloody knives are licked. Three more incantations, in a language so brutal it's like knives jangling inside the brain.

To the North, Ginny.

To the South, Blaise.

To the East, Luna.

To the West, radiant as the day she first saved his life, Hermione.

Voldemort launches curse after curse, bolts of green light illuminating the night as Harry's lovers flit stone to stone, fast as darkness falling when a candle is snuffed. His followers die by knives and spells and die with screams and gurgling, strangled whines.

"Oi, cunt!" Harry shouts.

Voldemort spins, froth dripping from his lips.

"What say you let me down, Tom and we can see about doing this quick and clean?"

* * *

**Warsaw, Poland**

**The Year of our Lord, 1941**

**Second Cycle**

A little girl flies up the stairs, her brown hair streaming behind her.

"Papa, papa!" "What?"

"Come quick! There's a girl downstairs, and she's hurt!"

Her mother huffs.

"Hush, Ruth. There's no way in or out. The Germans saw to that."

"You told me never to lie, papa! I'm not lying!" she huffs, stomping her tiny foot.

\-----

Downstairs, the entire basement is stacked with swastika-stamped crates, floor to ceiling. Sprawled atop one, is a woman of perhaps twenty-five. Two SS men are dead to either side of her, their heads and chests missing below the last ribs. Their blood and flecks of bone and fat mat her shiny black hair. A jagged-bladed knife pokes out of her belly and strips of her guts have slithered free.

In her hands is a short metal rod, grooved in a spiral, white-hot at the tip and wet with blood. Whose, he's not quite sure.

"Afternoon," she coughs, spitting up a few drops of blood.

"Who are you," Josef asks, raising the frying pan.

"A friend," she replies. "They'll come for you. They'll kill you, you know that. In your hearts, you know it doesn't stop with the walls, and the guards. I've seen where it stops. I don't think you want to see it."

"Open one," she suggests, pointing to to a crate.

He does. Out spill rifles, grenades and ammunition.

"Fight back, and you might live. You might even win. Make it out of the city before they can reinforce. Head south. Avoid the towns, and make for Istanbul. Your old homeland, if you can. Their power is less there."

"Cooperate and you won't. I brought you the tools. There's caches of these all over the ghetto. And it other ghettos elsewhere. Satchel charges. Mines. Explosives. Nine thousand Panzerschrecks with ammunition. Thirty thousand of their rapid-fire Sturmgewehr rifles, a hundred thousand of their Karabiner rifles, and a pistol for every man woman and child in the ghetto."

"I've dealt with their witch and the monsters she summoned. The rest is yours, I'm afraid."

"Why are you doing this?"

She laughs, causing a fresh gush of blood from her wound.

"Because a very long time ago, a Spanish woman who was secretly a Jew was the only person who showed me kindness."

"We have bandages," his wife offers from her spot on the second-to-last stair.

"Don't bother," she wheezes. "I'm done. Demon-inflicted wound. Too tired to block it and now it's too late to expel the venom."

"Your name, _please_." Josef pleads. "I want to make sure people know it."

"Hermione..." she whispers, just before the rod falls from her hands and her body disappears in a whirl of crimson flames.  
  


* * *

**Salem, Massachusetts**

**The Year of Our Lord, 1692**

**First Cycle**

"Is that witch in the courtroom, today?"

"Aye, sir..."

"Have no fear, child, the Devil is powerless here. Point her out."

"That one, sir. Goody Granger..."

Abigail's finger shakes as she points it at Hermione. Her silvery blonde hair peeks out of her bonnet and her face is beading with sweat.

" _Llegimens_ ," Hermione whispers, hoping the splinters of her wand she jabbed into the bones of her hand do the trick.

(Forgive me, my love.)

(Nothing to forgive, my little moon. Don't watch me hang. I don't want to hear your tears. I'll see you again. Look for me where I buried the godling's bones. Seven midnights, seven dawns...)

(I remember. I'll be using a different name.)

(Luna, maybe?)

(Luna. Because I'm your little moon.)

(How was dying, by the way?)

Abigail shrugs.

(As chores go, it was easy.)

"Take the witch," the judge snarls. "Hang her next to the adulterer and the fornicator."

"I'm to swing next to Proctor? Oh, good," Hermione chuckles. "Been missing the smell of a hypocrite's last shit."

\----

Harry's on the third scaffold, on her fight. To her left, John Proctor. They hung his wife already. Pity. One of the few women in this village who she never felt like cursing.

"Morning, Harry."

He wiggles his bound fingers as if to say 'hello'.

"Job done?" he asks.

"Aye," she sighs. "Job done."

The up-jumped demon that visited her in her cell had a smell of _beyond_ to him. She could tell that he wasn't another pit fiend, flesh-stitcher, hellhound, spider-woman or incubus or anything so _basic_. Magic knows she's killed enough of those in the woods.

He was something else. Something _more_ than a living creature and less than he wanted to be. Not yet a god, but well down the road.

He offered Hermione rescue in exchange for carrying his child. They've hung twenty already. None of them _actually_ witches or wizards. Here in Salem it's only Tituba's little boy Blaise, Ginger, Reverend Potter's lad, and her dear Abigail.

Probably made the same offer to every woman about to hang. 

His other victims weren't witches. Hadn't ruled a secret nation of coven that spanned from stormy Halifax to sweltering Savannah. Didn't know what a bellyful of a godling's flesh can do.

She accepted. Took his icy seed and at sunset the next day, expelled the monstrous little child and strangled it before eating every scrap of its flesh. She sliced her wand open and ripped flesh from her fingers with her teeth so she could work the blackthorn into the meat and wind the unicorn hair in her fingerbones. After killing the godling, she spliced his bones with her own, woozy from the blood loss but determined not to waste her treasure. The grieving father was not at all ready to face her when he came back for revenge. She divided his hulking body five ways, cleaning the bones and taking each of the seven heads for safe-keeping. With her failing strength, Hermione summoned her coven to her, giving them each as much meat as they could possibly stomach and telling the three not imprisoned to secret the corpse away in the woods.

Abigail volunteered to go first, to die to test it. Hermione didn't want her to but she was adamant. She got them caught.

At midnight day before yesterday, she heard a gunshot from the west, near the Proctor household. At trial, not only was her dear Abigail alive but there was a scar shaped like a crescent moon right between her eyes. Faint to a normal person. To a witch? The raw power in it shone bright as the sun.

Hermione's never been the sort to be rescued. She prefers to do the rescuing.

**Author's Note:**

> ##  [ Want to see the posh stuff? Want to see future chapters early? ](https://rb.gy/b1fjhr)  
> 
> 
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